"You were always the quiet one," Merle said.
"Thought I was the sweet one," Daryl said.
Merle laughed to himself.
"That too, brother," he mused. "Still—I can't help but feelin' this is a whole damn different kinda quiet than before. At the risk of pissin' you off…wanna talk about it?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders and sat staring at the same rock on the ground that he'd been staring at for what seemed like two hours. Merle was pretty sure that no rock in their grass-free backyard warranted that much attention.
"She don't love me, Merle," Daryl said finally. "And—what's worse? She ain't never gonna love me."
Merle hated to see Daryl so damned deflated. He'd do almost anything to make him feel better when he got like that.
He banged his hand on his brother's back like it might offer some comfort.
"She don't hardly know you," Merle said. "You ain't hardly give her a chance to know you. But when you do? Hell—she ain't gonna be able to do nothin' else but love your sorry ass."
Daryl laughed to himself, but it wasn't sincere.
"You think?" He asked with the smallest glimmer of hope.
"I fuckin' know it," Merle said.
